I’ll never forget that December day in 1952. Our Scotch pine tree was standing straight in its stand, all ready for decorating.
The wondrous scent filled our small Ohio home. To me, trimming the tree with Mom kicked off the entire Christmas season, a tradition I looked forward to weeks ahead of time.
Even as a boy, I loved the story of the birth of Jesus that the season celebrates. But something about the tree, the way it came alive with lights and ornaments, felt like its own special
